


Peppermint

by truethingsproved



Series: Hunter [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison-centric, The Argent Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/pseuds/truethingsproved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I, she thinks, am lost. I have been for a long time.</p><p>Allison reflects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peppermint

Allison’s hand flies over the page of her sketchbook, her peppermint mocha going cold on her nightstand. There’s graphite from her pencil staining her fingers and when she sets her pencil down for a moment to push her hair back her forehead and cheek are left with smears of grey. She doesn’t notice; she barely notices anything when she gets like this, only the vague understanding that time is passing when she looks up and it’s too dark. She lights candles in her room, a thousand flames and bursts of light emitting an eerie glow from where they sit on every flat surface she has—her dresser, her windowsill, her desk, her bedside tables. Everything else is shadows.

Her hand momentarily freezes over the familiar pair of eyes and she feels her heart beating faster than it should. She feels like it’s going to pound straight out of her chest. The mouth, the one she’s known since she was a child, the graceful slope of the nose, the blond curls she used to tug. Kate’s on her page, in her mind’s eye, under her skin, and even dying hasn’t changed that she’s never been closer to someone than she was to her aunt, and she probably never will be.

Kate’s face on her page is laughing at her; she can hear it in the silence of the house and feel it in the scratch of the pencil.  _What are you doing, girl? Get out of here._

Art school—she hadn’t gotten in. Applications to the Ivy Leagues—she never sent them in. She’s not going anywhere next year, nowhere that requires a school, and if anyone expects her to do anything that requires school (read: her father), they have another thing coming.

_Baby girl, get out of here. Everyone’s been lying to you and they’re lying to you still and you aren’t even trying to figure it out._

Kate would want her to leave. Kate, who left her niece a full bank account and a pair of car keys and a set of house keys (“for when you’re older,” Victoria Argent had promised). Kate, who left her an escape plan.

She’s thought about simply taking off, getting on the road and traveling around until she found somewhere to hunt for a while. She wants to give up hunting but after everything she’s lost she can’t. She likes the feel of power, the feeling of knowing that she is the only thing standing between someone innocent and death.

Setting the pencil down, Allison reaches over to finish her coffee. It’s cold, and it feels strange going down—cold mint always does; it’s why she can’t eat mint ice cream even though she really does like the taste. Kate’s face morphed into her mother’s somewhere around the middle. The eyes are all Victoria, even if the mouth is twisted into one of Kate’s almost-cruel smirks. She wonders, not for the first time, how these women leaders got dragged into all of this, if they knew what they were getting into, if they had a chance to escape.

How many other women, she wonders, were dragged into this before they knew how to say ‘no’?

She could leave now, pack her car and leave, call Lydia from the road with jagged apologies she’d only really mean for her. Nothing compares to freedom. Nothing compares to not having to be here. Nothing compares to actually living.

 _I,_  she thinks,  _am lost. I have been for a long time._

Long before she ever stepped foot on this forsaken ground she’d known it, known it in the way her father watched her like she was a weapon he hadn’t figured out how to use yet. She’s become that weapon. She hates herself almost as much as she hates him for it. She’d hate Kate and Victoria if they were still around to hate.

Kate didn’t have to leave her hints. She could have just fucking told her. And for Chris to demand that Allison still speak to him, love him, consider him her father when he’s barely a parent? How dare he, when he doesn’t even know that she’s been drawing again? She’d once mistaken ownership for love. Never again, she knows, never again.

She could knock these candles over and send the whole house up in flames.

Instead, she blows them out, one by one, and throws her windows open so the smoke can rush out into the clear winter air.

She will raise her voice and she will keep it raised until someone takes note and listens.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhh so ages upon ages ago I did 25 Days of Ficmas (well, half of it) for Allison/Damon because I have weird crossover OTPs and they'd be terrifying together but. Someone reblogged this and I'm deleting the other awful fic, written while I could actually stand most of TVD, but I'm posting the Teen Wolf stuff up here.
> 
> Takes place Allison's first December without her family.


End file.
